Study Night
by fairiel
Summary: The reader is studying in her dorm at night when Charles comes knocking on her window. (The story is set before X-Men First Class so Charles is still a student at Oxford)


It's a late Saturday evening and you're trying to study those bloody poems for this essay you have to handle on Monday. You have no clue what they mean and you could really use some help but your roommate Amy has gone to this party. She wanted you to come too, except you didn't have the mind for that. You never have the mind for that. Studying is your thing. Well, that is, when you understand the subject! You take a sip of your tea and read the same poem for the hundredth time.

A sudden rattling sound on the window startles you so badly you nearly have a heart attack. What is it? Can anyone have a moment of peace to study quietly? Everyone is supposed to be at that party so what is going on? You get up from your desk to see what the problem is when it starts again. Gravel or small rocks being thrown on the glass. More than annoyed, you open the window to make it stop.

"Whataver you think you're doing, it's not funny! Stop it right now!" you shout at the figure standing in the dark outside.

"Hey!"

The figure steps into the light and it's Charles, waving his hand at you.

"Charles? Are you daft?" you ask. "Do you know what time it is?"

"You weren't sleeping, I could see the light before I threw those rocks" he says matter-of-factly. "Can I come up?"

"You most certainly can't" you answer, indignant, in the lowest voice possible at this distance. "You're gonna wake up the prefect!"

You try to stay as quiet as you can, silently praying that no one hears the both of you. It's a miracle no one has come out yet.

"Wait! I'm climbing" he says, already pushing himself on the brick wall.

"No" you protest. "No, you can't."

But he doesn't turn back. He makes his way up the wall until he is hanging just outside your window.

"I should just close it in your face!" you snap at him.

"Come on" he pleads, looking at you with his puppy face. "Don't leave me hanging out there. It's bloody dangerous!"

You have to admit he looks pretty cute, his eyebrows all frowny, his mouth half smiling. You sigh and step away from the window, unable to hide your amusement.

Charles is a unique case. He can be so serious, working on his thesis the subject of which escapes you. Genetics, that must be it. But he can also be the biggest laugh you have ever met. The first time you saw him, you were walking with some of your female friends through the men's college, and all the boys were eyeing your little group curiously. But Charles was so forward and had started to make those inappropriate jokes. All your friends had looked down, shocked or feigning to be. But you had been unable to repress your chuckles and he had winked at you. Since then, you had begun seeing each other regularly on the college grounds. It was like he was constantly bumping into you unexpectedly. But you had half a mind that he was somehow following you. Though how he did, you could not be sure.

He had picked your interest. He was smart, good-looking, quick-thinking, easy-going, everything you wanted in a man. And had it come to that, you certainly would not have said no. But he had never showed anything but friendship towards you. Amy made fun of it constantly, teasing you whenever he was around. But there was never anything in his demeanor that made you think he thought of you that way. So what is he doing at your window in the middle of the night ? Especially when there is a party?

"I'm glad you're on the first floor" he replies out of breath, crashing down at your feet.

Unable to contain your hilarity, you burst out with laughter at the sight of him in his fancy suit and tie, sprawled on the floor.

"Will you help me up instead of making fun or me, or what?" he asks, holding out his hand.

You grab it and help him get to his feet, trying to sober up.

"Aren't you supposed to be at the party?"

"Yes, but you weren't there" he says casually.

That is his usual way of teasing you. He always makes those comments, but then never acts on them. He brushes past you, making his way to your desk.

"Don't tell me you're studying!"

He acts as if he is in his own room, completely at ease, as if there was nothing amiss in him being there. He picks up your book and glances at it, turning the pages with a feigned concentrated look on his face.

"Modernist poetry? I'm very disappointed" he continues. "I hoped to see you at the party, so when I couldn't find you, I knew I had to come here."

"You know I don't really like parties" you reply, trying to snatch your poetry book from his hand.

"Even when I'm there?" he asks playfully. "Oh, I see. You prefer modernist poetry to my company. I feel sad."

Again, he does it. Teasing you. And this time, Amy is not there to reply with a joke, so you do not know what to do.

"Will you stop doing that?" you ask, frustrated.

"Stop doing what?"

He is genuinely surprised and he stares at you, one eyebrow raised.

"You know, teasing me like that" you explain. "It's really annoying."

He chuckles, a bit uneasy. Your answer comes a bit unexpected and he thinks for a moment.

"I'm not teasing you", he finally says. "If that's what you think, I'm terribly sorry, that was never my intention."

You are at a loss for words. If he is not teasing you, then could those comments really be serious? He bends towards you, his piercing eyes staring into your soul. You cannot precisely define what it is about him. He has that way of making you feel uneasy. Well, not really uneasy. It is more like an unrest, a sensation of longing.

"I was having some tea. Do you want a cup?" you ask, trying to put up a front and hide your inner turmoil.

He nods, grinning at you, his teeth flashing white. You could stare at his mouth forever.

"If you want" he replies.

You pour the tea and hand him the warm cup.

"Be careful" you warn him. "It's really very hot."

You don't even know if you're talking about the tea or about you. He reaches out to take the cup and your fingers touch. A jolt of electricity runs down your spine, making you drop the cup. It falls on the floor, breaking in tiny splinters. But his hand is still on yours, his thumb casually caressing your palm. You are staring in the void, unable to breathe, unable to think.

After what seems like an eternity, you look up at him. He is breathing steadily, if a little fast, mouth half open, eyes very bright. All you can think of is how kissable he is, how very kissable and desirable, and how much you want him. Your blood is boiling in your veins as you wait for him to do something. Anything.

"Oh, fuck it!" he exclaims.

His hand snakes around your neck, bringing you close, and he kisses you intently. His lips are warm and firm. His whole body is hard and pressing into you, demanding. You tighten against him, hands open, almost flailing. Reason is telling you to push him away but you can't. Your own lips answer the kiss hungrily and your teeth graze him. Your eagerness makes him chuckle and he shuffles you against the wall. Your hands roam his back, rumpling the fabric of his jacket.

You coil a leg around him as he pulls up your dress.

"I want you so much" he hisses amidst frantic kisses. "I have always wanted you."

His mouth is now all over your neck, his burning lips eliciting small moans of pleasure from you. He seizes your butt and lifts you up, his mouth drifting now along your collarbones. You get rid of his jacket and pull his shirt out of his trousers. He chuckles again, going back to your mouth, leaving a trail of saliva all along your neck and chin.

"I should have done this a long time ago" he says.

"Shut up, Charles! You talk too much!"

You loosen his tie and start to unbutton his shirt, but he just grabs the bottom of it and slides it over his head, ruffling his hair. He stares at you, moistening his lips, his deep blue eyes planted in yours. His skin is so smooth under your fingers, you don't think you will ever get enough of it.

You quiver with anticipation as he unbuckles his belt and his trousers fall on the floor. The sound of it drives you crazy and your fingers tangle in his hair. Your mouth reaches for him again, and in between hungry kisses, you can feel him pull your soaked panties aside before sliding in you. He groans against your mouth and you wrap your legs tight around him, pushing him further inside. He sets the pace, not too fast, not too slow, and you have to bite your lips to repress the deep moans of ecstasy that come to you, not wanting to wake the whole building. You usually close your eyes during sex but he is too gorgeous. Just the vision of him, slightly flushed with the effort, would be sufficient to make you come. He somehow perceives your thoughts and he starts to smile, his own moans transforming into a soft laughter as he thrusts faster now. You hold on to him as you feel a tingle in your toes, and a shiver runs through your body. He shifts just a little and you see stars as he hits a special cry out and his eyes meet yours.

"Feeling good?" he asks.

But you can only cry out again and again as he hits it each time. You bury your face in his shoulder when the wave rises in you, letting it wash over you. Your body spasms, one of your leg falling down along his side. He gives a few more thrusts before pulling out, letting you slide on your feet. His come shoots on your dress and he bends to kiss you again, sweet little pecks all over your face.

You catch your breath, not quite believing what has just happened. You hug him tight to ascertain the reality of his body next to yours.

"Can I stay for the rest of the night?" he asks. "I'm not sure I want to try to climb back down just now."

Without a word, you just pull him towards the bed, removing your dress and nestling inside his arms. He kisses the top of your head and you feel the beats of his heart return slowly to normal. His hands gently caress you and exhaustion finally has the better of you. You fall asleep to the warmth of him and the sound of his steady breathing.


End file.
